


Business Casual

by orphan_account



Category: OK K.O.! Let's Be Heroes
Genre: Come Swallowing, DFAB reader, Exhibitionism, Implied Boxman/Venomous, Implied Boxman/Venomous/Reader, Oral Sex, Other, Workplace Sex, implied polyamory, reader just has no fuckin shame, reader's bra described
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-08
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-28 18:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13909371
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: You pay Boxman a visit while he's on an important business call.





	Business Casual

Well, it’s official. After about two hours of watching TV, playing Toontown and waiting for Boxman to get off his phone call, you’re bored. The bots spent their time in a childish playroom with board games and Sesame Street VHS tapes, and Boxman spent nearly all of his time trying to destroy the plaza, so there wasn’t much in the way of passing time at Boxmore. The place was pretty big, though. There were a few places you hadn’t seen. With tremendous effort, you pull yourself off of Boxman’s roomy couch and shove your phone in your pocket, deciding you’ll explore through the hallways a bit.

Your footsteps echo loudly throughout the barren corridors, a sharp clicking against the cold tile floor. There’s hardly anything on the walls or sitting by the doorways, and you briefly wonder if you’ll get lost in this maze of a factory should the other halls look identical to this one. You’ve got almost no landmarks to work off of. But at the end of the hallway, you see a large room with three conveyor belts running through it at different levels. An army of Darrells is being constructed, each one of them doomed to the same fate. His phone call was about improvements, though. Maybe the changes he made to the new models would finally warrant a victory. Every single time a new Darrell comes through the conveyor belt, he shouts “Hi, (Y/N)!” and waves. You spend a couple minutes waving to every new Darrell, and then it’s time to move on through your journey.

The next hallway is similar to the first, but there are a few more pictures on the walls, and a door that you recognize by the crayon drawing taped to it. It’s a scribbly red doodle of Darrell, Raymond, and Shannon standing on top of the Plaza heroes, with Boxman looking on, tiny red hearts dancing around his head. You smile. Nearly every day there was another drawing on the outside of the bots’ playroom, and every day Boxman took it down. Darrell and Shannon once theorized that he likely threw them away, but you knew there was a secret drawer in Boxman’s desk full of them.

At the end of this hallway, you reach a large, open boiler room where Ernestos stood around the lockers at the other side. They’re getting ready for their lunch break. Briefly you wonder how Ernestos ate without mouths, but decided you didn’t like thinking about it. A few yards away from the lockers was the door to Boxman’s office. A security Darrell sat outside playing with a bouncy ball. As you approach, he quickly jolts up and hides the bouncy ball behind him. 

“Oh! Hi, (Y/N)!”

“You can go, Darrell, it’s your lunch break,” you say, waving your hand to dismiss him.

“Oh, yeah! Thanks!” he smiles, and he trots away, bouncing the ball in his wake.

You knock on the door to Boxman’s office, pressing your ear against it to hear what was going on. The quiet conversation behind the door stops abruptly.

“For the last time, LEAVE ME ALONE DAR-“

“It’s me,” you interrupt.

“O-oh! C..come in, (Y/N).”

You quietly push the door open as Boxman sheepishly resumes his call. He points apologetically at the phone, and you wave, giving him the go-ahead. You examine him as you walk approach his desk. His coat is slung over the back of his chair and his hair is disheveled, as if a hand has been carded through it several times. You inch your way behind his desk and sit on the side of it, your feet dangling above the floor.

“Yes, I agree. The armor grade from my current supplier just simply isn’t what it needs to be. I know there’s one the next county over that could work out, but it’ll be a bit more expensive,” Boxman says into the reciever, using his free hand to scribble down notes on a pad of paper sitting to your right. You scoot back onto his desk a bit to get comfortable. It seems like you’ll be here for a while. You look down to the notepad and see four or five pages have already been filled with Boxman’s uncharacteristically neat handwriting.

“Ah, yes, the blasters. I don’t think there’s many improvements to be made on the blasters themselves, it’s really the honing devices that need work. My current Darrells can blast through just about anything, but their aim is just awful.”

You hear the voice on the other line respond, and you immediately make the voice as Professor Venomous. It was a bit odd to see Boxman so stressed talking to him. Usually he was overjoyed to do so.

Now that you knew the person on the other line was not a client he had to be completely formal with, you patted your thigh expectantly. He rolled forward in his chair, sighing wearily and laying his head in your lap. You ran your hand over his tousled hair, resting your palm against his head and lazily running your fingers along his scalp.

“Well, the only way we can improve the honing devices is with stronger glorb power. I’ll have to work on the concentration levels.”

Professor Venomous sounded nearly as drawn out on the other end, from what you could make out. They’d been at this for nearly two hours and it didn’t seem to be coming to a head. You wished you could’ve done something to relive some of the pressure from him, but you weren’t much help in the way of robotics. Several times, the conversation between Boxman and Venomous would venture into their fields of study and you were left in the dust until the subject changed. You didn’t mind. For all you could care, they could talk about the history of copper wire for the entire night. You’d just be happy you were together.

You picked your brain a bit, wondering if you should leave to traverse more of the factory, when an idea hit you. Boxman sat back up, his chin resting in his chicken hand, with his phone held in the other. While the two of them deliberated over god knows what, your hands traveled to the hem of your shirt, pulling it up over your head and tossing it to the floor. Boxman gaped at you, eyes wide. The phone slipped through his fingers and clattered against the hard surface of the desk. He yelped and quickly tried to regain composure, gripping the phone tightly against his ear.

“Uh..b-buh..b-blasters! We were…we were talking about blasters! Uh…weren’t we…?” he laughs nervously into the reciever.

You, however, could not be less concerned with blasters. Reaching behind your back, you fiddled with the clasp of your bra for a minute while Boxman looked away, trying to make up for his brief distraction. The air was cold against your newly bare skin, even more so once your bra was off. You tossed it at Boxman, and it landed draped over the side of his head. He absentmindedly pulled it off, running it through his fingers for a moment before it dawned on him what it was. His head swiveled in your direction and you smiled, pressing one finger against your lips and making a “phone” gesture to remind him to keep his head. He gives you a small nod.

Taking his trembling free hand in yours, you guide it up the side of your stomach, to rest on your bare breast. It’s a welcome relief from the abrasive chill of the air. His thumb traces gently along your skin, a sharp contrast to the iron grip he has on the phone.

“S-sure, Professor! I-I’m sure they’d be able to work something out,” he says, before quickly hitting the mute button on his phone. Venomous mused over something on the other end, but Boxman didn’t hear. He was busy rolling as close to you as he could in his office chair, planting a trail of nervous kisses between your breasts. He thumbs around for the unmute button without taking his eyes off of you.

“Now..a-about the rockets,” Boxman says, once Professor Venomous has ceased speaking. “I…I think we’d benefit from finding a cheaper fuel alternative. Especially if we’re, um…” He swallows audibly. “If we’re putting extra funds into the blasters.”

You snicker quietly as he loses his train of thought several times in one sentence. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen you like this before. Still, every time you took your clothes off he acted like he’d never get another opportunity.He was nearly pressed against you, and your legs were between his, a noticeable pressure growing against your shin. As he stammered something about rocket fuel, you gently pushed his chair back with the toe of your shoe, stepping off of the desk, and crouching down underneath it. As you did so, Boxman came even more undone, tripping over his words more times than you could count. Venomous didn’t sound bothered on the other end. He was probably just as lost in thought as Boxman.

The space under the desk wasn’t cramped enough to be uncomfortable, not when you were leaning towards Boxman’s lap. You ran a finger along the front of the growing bulge in his pants, and you felt him shiver under your touch. You fumbled with his zipper, pulling his pants down slightly; just enough for his briefs to become exposed. With your hand running lazily along his thigh, you pressed your mouth against the cloth of his briefs, allowing your tongue to press gently against his now complete erection. His speaking became more breathless and his words practically fell in a jumble out of his mouth.

You hooked a finger underneath his waistband and pulled his briefs down as far as you could, exposing him entirely. You wrapped your hand gently around his shaft, and pressed your lips against the head, your tongue barely peeking out against his skin. You moved forward, letting the head push past your lips, and you sucked gently. His free hand found its way into your hair, lightly gripping in silent desperation. You continued sucking at the head while your hand pumped slowly along his shaft. He sat hunched over his desk, trying his absolute hardest to sound normal. 

More of his length entered your mouth now, gliding easily along your tongue. Boxman was the perfect size to fill your entire mouth, and no more than that, making you seem a lot better at this than you actually were. Once you reached the base, you began drawing your head back, sucking a bit harder with every pump. A quiet whimper escaped him as Venomous replied to him on the other end, now sounding a bit confused.

“ _Are….listeni-…xman_?” You could make out brief bits of what he said, now that you were in such close quarters.

“Y-yes, of course I.. a-am,” he breathed, as you quickened your pace a bit. His thighs shook ever so slightly under your palms. 

His foot found itself hooked around your back as he sat pressed hard against the back of his chair. He was incredibly tense, unable to keep himself contained against the steady rhythm of your mouth. He thrust into you a single time, grunting as he tightened his grip on your hair. 

As Boxman became more unraveled, you became more relentless, picking up a steady pace and hollowing your cheeks around his length. He scrambled for the mute button a few times, but you were unsure if he managed to press it before a stream of moans escaped from his lips. 

“ _By…ny chance is (Y/N) at… -xmore today?_ ” Venomous asked, and Boxman blindly pressed the unmute button. Whether or not it changed anything, neither of you knew.

“W-why… why yes. Why…” he pants. “Why do you ask?”

A few moments of silence passed over the phone, and Boxman continued trying to conceal his quiet moans, his fingers now tangled in your hair, his nails pressed hard against your scalp. You felt him throb in your mouth as you, once again, reached the base of his length.

“ _(Y/N)….ucking your d-….der your desk. Aren’t-..ey_.”

“Wh-what?! N-no, of course not Prof-fessor, I… I would nnh..”

The phone dropped from his grip again and clattered across the surface of his desk. He bucked his hips into your mouth several times, his hand clutching desperately against your head. He moaned loudly as he came, a hot stream hitting the back of your throat as he plunged as deeply past your lips as he could. You hollowed your cheeks as he did so, and he groaned appreciatively, weakly thrusting a few more times before collapsing back in his chair.

You looked up, smirking as you wiped your lips. His slack hand splayed over his phone, and he lazily raised it up to his ear.

“You…you were saying, Professor?”

A response you couldn’t make out on the other end.

“Venomous….Venomous says ‘hi’.”


End file.
